Aversion
by chromeknickers
Summary: The many ways in which Bonnie is angered, annoyed, and frustrated with the cocksure vampire, Damon Salvatore. - A series of one-shots, vignettes, and arcs that may or may not be expanded on due to my whim. - "Oh God, Damon!" She threw up her hands to shield her offended eyes. "Put that thing away!"
1. Morning Wood

A/N: These are unrelated vignettes, meaning that they do not follow one storyline (although there might be some arcs). It's more like a bunch random scenes that pop into my head and I write them down. However, I may expand one or several of these vignettes into chaptered fics at some point—depending on my interest and other projects. In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy these wacky Bamon drabbles. ;)

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Morning Wood

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The morning light filtered through the window, washing over Bonnie's face with growing persistence. The young witch groaned, squeezing her eyes tightly and trying her best to shut out the light and the foolish impulse to wake up. After a moment of internal debate she finally gave into that foolish impulse and slowly blinked open warm olive green eyes.

The harsh glare of the sun fell directly in her line of vision and she squinted, muttering a few colour expletives to herself. She was groggy, grumpy, and a little confused as to exactly where she was right now—and why there was an extra arm draped over her stomach.

Blinking blearily, Bonnie turned to see whom this mysterious arm belonged to but his face was half obscured by the pillow. At first her brain was still too addled to care, instructing that she should close her eyes and go back to sleep. She willingly complied for a half-second before she suddenly remembered _exactly_ where she was and _who_ she was with. She was in bloody Romania sharing a bed with a very human Damon Salvatore!

Bonnie bolted upright in bed and threw the offending arm off her midsection. She made a loud noise of disgust and Damon stirred, grunting into the pillow and entirely unperturbed by her assault. Bonnie then decided to tempt fate by warily prodding his shoulder with an index finger.

"Damon!" She jabbed his arm repeatedly. "Wake up!"

The handsome dark-haired man retorted with another grunt and then slowly rolled over to face her. His blue eyes were instantly washed in light and he blinked rapidly at the morning's brightness coming through the window. His long, dark eyelashes were fanned out like thin whips and he brought up a hand to shade his eyes, giving her his most cavalier yet decidedly sleepy look.

"What is it?"

"What the hell are you doing in _my_ bed?"

It was the only bed in the room—one they were forced to share as a 'married couple', but that didn't mean he actually had to sleep with her. Why couldn't he just sleep on the floor like the dog he was?

"_Your_ bed?" Damon sat up and, after a series of jaw-cracking yawns, rubbed his tired face and looked at her again. "What's your problem, Bennett?"

"_You_ are! All of _this_ is your fault. Us here, us—" she shuddered "—having to share the same bed."

Damon shifted on the tiny mattress. He was shirtless and half-naked, or at least she sincerely hoped he had pants on. "Oh yeah? What about me being human, _Witch_?" He raised an accusing eyebrow. (She swore he spoke a whole other language with those damn things—eyebrowese?) "Whose fault is that?"

Bonnie's anger instantly deflated and her feelings of violation were now replaced with guilt and shame. "I said I would fix that, didn't I?"

Instead of arguing the point or getting upset and yelling at her (again), Damon merely shrugged and folded back the sheets. Once out of bed, he stretched languidly with his back to her. Bonnie couldn't help but steal a brief glance at his pale, muscled back and saw that he was, thankfully, wearing pants. But as he turned around she got an eyeful of what he was hiding inside those pants.

"Oh God, Damon!" She threw up her hands to shield her offended eyes. "Put that thing away!"

Damon lazily glanced down to see that he was sporting a rather large erection. "Oh, don't flatter yourself," he quipped with carefully crafted derision, as if Bonnie actually thought she was responsible for his morning wood. "Besides, it isn't anything you haven't seen before."

He padded off to the bathroom and shut the door before Bonnie cried out, "Yeah, but I never wanted to see _yours_!"

The door opened a crack and Damon stuck his head out. "Hey, Bonnie?"

"What?" she mumbled, feeling decidedly embarrassed and wishing for a nearby rock to hide under as the sheets were not cutting it.

"You can always give me a hand." He smirked and Bonnie shrieked in outrage before grabbing the pillow and aiming it at the door. It fell remarkably short and Damon's smug grin only widened. "C'mon, Bennett." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you want it."

Damon quickly shut the door before the witch could look for something heavier to lob at his head, like a lamp. Once she heard the running water, Bonnie buried her face in her hands and groaned.

_Stupid Damon Salvatore!_


	2. Love Spell

Love Spell

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He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, letting his fingers trail back to the corner of her mouth.

"I love you," he said hesitantly. He looked at her as though afraid of what he might see on her face, hiding it, but not well. "You have no idea how hard it is to say to you. Not that I don't want to," he added hastily, bringing his wide palm back up to cup her cheek along the jaw. "I just… Bonnie… can you ever consider us more than friends?"

Bonnie's eyes widened and her mouth worked soundlessly as words failed to tumble out. Damon Salvatore was touching her cheek and gazing at her longingly with those damn crazy blue eyes of his while whispering words of love like some lovesick fool. Was this a dream? It had to be; either that or a really sick joke. Since when did Damon even like her as a _friend_?

Suddenly Damon was bending forward, his eyes sliding shut as his lips sought hers. Panicking, Bonnie instinctively jerked away and tumbled backwards, landing on the ground with a painful thud and clicking of teeth. She sat up with a wince, bringing a hand to the back of her bruised head.

It definitely wasn't a dream; the pain was indeed very real.

Damon knelt beside her, his hand cupping the back of her head. "Are you all right?"

Bonnie glanced up at the vampire, her olive green eyes searching his. He seemed real enough—this seemed real enough—but what exactly was going on? She tried to speak but her vocal chords refused to cooperate. Had she been struck mute? Was this a spell? It had to be a spell!

Damon's hands reached around and underneath her, swiftly scooping her up into his arms. "Let's get you inside."

The witch could only blink and stare at the dark-haired vampire in slack-jawed amazement. She was being carried, cared for and tended to by Damon Freakin' Salvatore! Yeah, this was definitely a love spell—or a curse, depending on how one looked at it. And Bonnie Bennett was going to get to the bottom of this Bizarro World mystery once she got her voice back—and once she was safely out of the psychotic lovestruck vampire's arms.


	3. Snow Fight

A/N: This is part of my human!Damon world (see _Morning Wood_). Methinks I'll end up expanding this concept into a chaptered fic because a human Damon is just too precious. ;)

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Snow Fight

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They had been walking in the snow for at least fifteen minutes before Damon started sulking.

"I hate walking," he pouted angrily, tracking a trail for Bonnie to follow in. "Walking is for poor people."

"God, you're whinny." Bonnie rolled her eyes, trying her best not to fall as she sunk into Damon's boot prints. "Is that all you ever do?"

Damon turned and gave her a cheeky grin that set her off-kilter. "Oh, I can do other things," he suggested in a voice dripping with sexual innuendo. "Things _to you_ out here in the snow, if you'd like."

"I wouldn't," she said quickly, glad the cold wind had already tinted her umber skin a dark rose. "Anyway, we can't get a vehicle through here even if we tried. The elders said we'd get there just fine by walking the trail."

Damon snorted derisively. "That's easy for them to say. They don't have to trudge through this 'nads-deep freezing wet shit, now do they?"

"Aww, is poor widdle Damon afraid of da snow?" she cooed; noting, with triumph, the irritation settling in his blue eyes. "Well, whatever. You'll just have to get over it. It's our only route to the house. Plus, this stuff is waist deep for me at times and you don't hear me complaining."

"That's because I'm blazing a trail for you!" Damon barked indignantly. "Besides, for you to complain would make you human like the rest of us."

Bonnie's back stiffened and she stopped dead in her tracks (or his). She stared at the back of Damon's head as though she could implode it with her mind, and she could. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that aside from not bitching and moaning like any _normal_ person would, you, Bonnie Bennett, do not know how to have fun." He cocked his head to the side, letting his eyes roam over her body in that unnerving habit of his until they settled on her face. "You need to loosen up a bit, Judgey."

Having said his piece, Damon turned around and started tracking through the snow again. But something inside Bonnie had snapped at his words. She wasn't human enough, huh? She didn't know how to have fun, huh? Her lips curved into a dangerous smile.

"I need to loosen up, huh?" Damon merely nodded, his back turned to her as he continued to trudge forward. But before he knew what was happening (thanks to no longer having his vampy-senses), a wet snowball exploded on the back of his head.

"What the hell!" He swivelled around so quickly he almost toppled over. "You vindictive little witch!"

Dusting the snow from his hair with a glower, he reached down and gathered a handful of the cold, white stuff and lobbed it at Bonnie's face in retaliation. The witch in question sputtered in surprise—at Damon daring to throw snow at her _and_ hitting her directly in the face. Catching sight of the playful and cocky glint in Damon's eyes, Bonnie deliberately wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat with a growl.

"Big mistake, Salvatore," she warned, facing off with the vampire. "I used to spend winter vacations with my cousins in Colorado, so you better believe they taught me how to pack the most perfect snowball."

There was a wicked gleam in those dark green eyes of hers as she bent down to gather snow and pack it in her small hands.

"I can make it _hurt_."

"Oooh," Damon taunted, raising his hands in mock surrender, "I'm shaking in my ass-kicking boots here, Bonnie."

It probably wasn't a wise idea to challenge the witch, but Damon was never one to back down from a fight. Hell, picking a fight with Bonnie was one of his favourite past-times; it was almost as much fun as feeding had once been. In any case, he had thrown a fair amount of snowballs in his day (and he had many more days on him than she did); if necessary, he could easily take Bonnie down—in vampire form or not.

"You asked for it." She hurled the snowball with some grace, hitting him smack dab in the middle of his forehead with an icy crunch.

"Fuck me!" Damon roared, clutching at his forehead in pain. "Did you put rocks in there or something? Fuck! I think I'm bleeding!"

Bonnie's triumphant grin quickly faded as Damon carried on, writhing and shouting the most colourful expletives she'd ever heard. She hadn't meant to hurt him that badly; snowballs only stung for a bit and usually didn't cause this sort of drama. But then this was Damon Salvatore and he lived for drama. However, he was in human form, so maybe she had actually hurt him.

Quickly jumping from boot print to boot print until she was standing directly underneath him, Bonnie tried to coax his hand down from his forehead to get a better look. "Crap! Sorry, sorry! Lemme see," she said, fluttering about.

Bonnie only belatedly realised her mistake when Damon kicked her legs out from under her and caught her by the arm. Hoisting her onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry, he smacked her ass with a flat palm, ignoring her indignant gasps and squeals of protest, before dumping her in a bank of snow.

"You bastard! That's cheating!"

Damon stood over top of her and smiled smugly. "And that's why you'll never win against me, Bennett."


	4. The Vampire Slayer

The Vampire Slayer

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Damon didn't like playing the hero any more than he wanted to be an errand boy. He was the villain, the resident bad boy, not some vampire lackey with whom Elena could depend on. But Damon had always been powerless to her whims, just like he had been with Katherine. Elena was beautiful and enticing and loyal and had this way about her like Katherine did; although she was far less manipulative and had zero malicious intent. Still, Damon was ensnared and had willingly become her whipping boy. What could he say? He was love's bitch. And currently love had him tracking down the scent of one Bonnie Bennett, a powerful witch on the lamb—or so everyone assumed.

Why Bonnie had left town Damon did not know and did not care. What sane non-supernatural (or supernatural) entity _wouldn't_ want to leave Mystic Falls? The town was a death trap. Living there ensured not only your own gruesome death but the death of your loved ones. As far as Damon was concerned Bonnie could go and do whatever she pleased, just as long as she didn't interfere with his business. Sure, the witch was a valuable tool to have around (a Bennett witch, if anything, was always useful), but the judgemental holier-than-thou attitude Damon could have done without. So, if Bonnie wanted to leave Mystic Falls, he'd let her. Hell, if she had've told him in advance he would have sent her off with a bon voyage and a lovely parting gift basket.

But Elena didn't want that. No, Elena didn't want another friend to leave her (she did have serious abandonment issues, after all), and it had nothing to do with having a powerful witch in her back pocket. There was no strategy to hunting down Bonnie and dragging her back and, honestly, Damon did understand it. Why force someone to return to a place they obviously hated? But Elena wanted her best friend back, and what Elena wanted Elena got. And Damon was still love's, and therefore Elena's, bitch.

He had spent the better part of three weeks tracking Bonnie up and down the eastern seaboard and then trekked over to the west, and all the fun places in between. He had visited with less-than-welcoming witches who'd rather burn him to ashes with their minds than give him a heads-up on the Bennett witch's whereabouts. Regardless, no one seemed to know where Bonnie was or where she had even been. It was almost as if she had dropped clean off the face of the earth—or at least she had left the continental United States.

Whatever the case, Damon had done all the Scooby Doo-ing he needed to; he wasn't travelling overseas to hunt for the witch. If Bonnie didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be—and Elena would have to deal with it (deal with it by sobbing on his baby brother's shoulder). Damon was about to head back home to break the news when he heard a familiar voice carrying from a nearby park.

The moon was rising high in the sky, its silver light falling across the dark trees and park benches. Down by the pier is where he saw Bonnie Bennett. She was dressed in skin-tight black leather pants and a matching halter top; her dark chestnut hair was swept back into a high, sleek ponytail. She appeared to be conversing with three men, three vampires to be precise.

Before Damon could ever consider his options—to help the witch or watch her dispatch the vampires with some painful aneurysms—the entire scene swiftly unfolded in front of him like a furious battle. Bonnie had grabbed a stake from her hip and aimed at the tall blond who looked to be the oldest and strongest of the three. He took a step back, allowing the largest hulking specimen of the three to fight his battle for him.

"Take her alive, if you can," Blondie ordered, quickly manoeuvring back out of harm's way.

The hulking vampire, who looked like a bouncer on steroids and who Damon had mentally nicknamed Bruno, attempted to trade punches with Bonnie. Amazingly enough, the witch evaded most of his wide throws and took what blows connected like a champ before delivering a swift kick to Bruno's solar plexus and driving him backwards. The second vampire, who was thin and wiry, had launched at Bonnie with a spinning assault. The little witch somehow intercepted his speed and easily dodged aside, hammering the stake through his heart as he sailed by.

Blondie growled in frustration and moved forward to stand with the hulk, Bruno, hoping to flank the petite girl. The big guy rushed forward and Bonnie snarled in cold glee as she smashed her fist into the bridge of his nose, destroying the cartilage with a sickening snap. He doubled over in pain, bringing his hands up to his nose and exposing his upper torso, when Bonnie took the stake and brought it up underneath his ribcage, driving it through to his heart with a grunt. The thin piece of wood remained embedded there as big ol' Bruno hit the dirt.

Meanwhile Blondie reached past the hulk's falling form and cold-cocked Bonnie in the face. "You fucking bitch!" he spat, pinning her up against a tree. "Fuck orders! I should just rip out your heart."

Suddenly from behind there was a sickening crunch of bones as bloody fingers tore through the vampire's chest. Damon swiftly pulled his hand out, along with Blondie's heart. "Not if I rip out yours first."

The heartless vampire let out a needless gasp of air and fell to the ground, dead. Damon side-stepped the body and held out his bloodied hand as though he didn't know where to put it. He certainly wasn't wiping it off on his jacket or his jeans or his five-hundred dollar shirt. Instead, he bent down and smeared the already blackened and congealed blood on Blondie's coat.

"So, who are you supposed to be—Buffy or Willow?" He grinned smugly to himself, and stood back up to regard the pretty witch with wild blue eyes.

Bonnie, however, didn't seem to be listening. She just stepped out from beneath the tree and pulled out another stake, slowly stalking towards him. It was a sexy sort of stride, full of swagger and power; it definitely fit well with the dangerous black leather attire she was currently sporting. Needless to say, he was a fan.

"Well, whatever. The cavalry has arrived." When he flourished grandly towards himself, Bonnie didn't even bat an eyelash; not a solitary muscle moved on her lips to curve upwards into a smirk or downwards into a disapproving frown. "Hold your enthusiasm there, Bonnie; you're embarrassing yourself." He deliberately rolled his eyes and took a step towards her. "Look, I know you're most favourite person in the world, but I—"

With the speed of a vampire, Bonnie rushed him. The tip of the stake was aimed for his heart, but Damon instinctively moved around it and she followed. She flew as silently as an arrow whispering through the dark, and Damon had to coordinate with a speed and grace he rarely had to demonstrate in fights.

"What the fuck?" But she was already on him again, relentless. This time when she sped forward he reacted with his full strength, the skin around his eyes spidering black as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her roughly to the ground. "Dammit, Bonnie! It's _me_!"

Bonnie ignored his declaration and effortlessly flipped back up onto her feet. She cracked her neck and shook out her arms as though she was shaking off a cushioned fall to the ground. Just a minor setback was all. She looked completely unharmed and totally unfazed by his assault. Damon expected some witchy fire or an aneurysm or two, but Bonnie just clutched the stake in her hand and began to gently weave like a vigilant boxer.

"Am I supposed to know you?"

It was her first words to him and he didn't have long to absorb the absurdity of the question before she was lunging at him with that incredible speed of hers again. She was almost as fast as he was and just as strong, maybe even stronger. Who the fuck knew? Damon barely stepped out of the way before grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her back, bringing a hard knee to one of her kidneys.

Bonnie absorbed the blow with a short gasp and pivoted back, returning with a roundhouse kick to Damon's head. He staggered backwards and clutched at his face. Was her leg made of lead now? What the actual fuck?

"What the fuck has happened to you, Bonnie?" He tried to sweep her feet out from under her but she was too fast, already flipping backwards and out of the way.

"Why do you keep calling me _Bonnie_?"

He was about to clarify that she was an idiot because that was her name, when Bonnie rushed forward and swung at the hip; her stake embedded upwards into his chest. Damon's hands were wrapped tightly around Bonnie's in a dangerous game of push and pull. It was taking almost all of his strength not to let her puncture the wooden instrument all the way through to his heart. And while he knew Elena didn't want him to kill Bonnie, Damon wasn't about to fight with kiddie gloves on.

He shoved back with all his might, connecting both sets of hands and the back of the stake with Bonnie's chin, sending her reeling backwards. From then on it was a full-frontal assault, a series of kicks and punches determined to drive her back and tire her out. One last punch connecting with her jaw and she was sailing through the air before landing painfully on her back.

Damon was tempted to tell her to stay down when, with a gymnastic lift, cross, and twirl of her legs, Bonnie had already propelled herself back up onto her feet. She was breathing a bit heavily but looked far from worn out like he had wanted. Instead she looked ready to fight again, glaring at Damon with those olive green eyes of hers, noting the stake held loosely in his hand.

"Looking for this?" He waved the weapon at her like a school-yard taunt.

Bonnie didn't say a word, nor did she look all that affected by his small victory. The venom had temporarily gone from her eyes. In fact, she looked slightly amused with him, maybe even a little exhilarated at the challenge he presented. He couldn't deny that a small part of him felt the same way.

She was already dusting herself off, making sure to deliberately smooth her hands over her form-fitting, leather-clad thighs. Damon followed those slender hands, cocking his head to the side as he took her all in—the smooth curves, the silky exposed chocolate skin, and the come-hither-and-I'll-stake-you eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound one-tenth as interested as he was.

"Name's Katerina." She smirked, but there was nothing playful in that smirk. She was pure predator and she saw him as her prey. "But you can call me Kat for short—well, for what's left of your undead life."

Damon couldn't help but smirk at the threat, albeit rather angrily. This girl had witchy amnesia or some shit, and now she thought she was some badass vampire hunter? She was lucky he didn't try to rip _her_ heart out of her chest—that very real and beating heart.

"Okay, maybe I asked the wrong question." Damon chucked the stake over his shoulder and into the bushes. He took a few bold steps forward, invading Bonnie's personal space like he always did. "_What_ are you?"

She certainly wasn't a vampire; he could tell that much from her obvious beating heart. Plus, she still smelled very human and very Bonnie. But there was something off about her, and not just her newly found speed and strength. Her entire demeanour was different; that and the fact that she had no clue who he was or who she was, apparently. So what exactly was she?

Bonnie (or Kat) pulled out another stake from the back of her leather pants (where she found the room, Damon did not know) and twirled it between her fingers. She studied the dark-haired vampire intently; less like she wanted to immediately kill him and more like she wanted to know exactly what his deal was.

"Me?" She brought the tip of the stake to her pouty lips before placing it on Damon's. "I'm just the vampire slayer."

Every muscle in Damon's jaw twitched mercilessly as he felt the smooth weight of the wood and the warmth of her breath tickle his skin. He groaned, "You have got to be shitting me."

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A/N: Is Bonnie still a witch? What happened to her? *shrugs* This one's kinda like _Vampire Diaries_ meets _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ meets a bit of _La Femme Nikita_. Whatever the case, it results in a BAMF Bonnie (or Katerina/Kat). Named after the actress Katerina 'Kat' Graham, not Katerina Petrova/Katherine Pierce. ;)


	5. The Break Up

The Break Up

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"What are you doing Friday night?" Damon asked Bonnie the moment she entered the den.

"I dunno. I don't really have anything planned."

Damon nodded absently and poured himself a glass of bourbon from the crystal decanter before turning to lean against the bar. His silver-blue eyes raked over his girlfriend's attire; she was dressed in a white knit off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and a pair of dark skinny capri jeans that hugged her hips and accentuated the curves of her calves; finishing it all off with a pair of black ankle-wrap three-inch stilettos.

"Then put on something sexy and accessible, my little witch, because I'm taking you out on the town." He gave her a wink and tipped the glass to his lips. "I'm thinking about dinner at Casa del Sol. Ever been?"

Bonnie shook her head, her chocolate curls bouncing off her shoulders. "No, I haven't."

"Good." Damon took a healthy sip of his drink and grinned. "You'll love it." He absently swirled the liquor in the crystal tumbler, watching as the liquid sloshed up against the side of the glass. "Listen, Bons, I know I've been neglecting you lately—" a tender, apologetic smile lit up his eyes "—but I promise to make it up to you."

Bonnie opened her mouth to speak but shut it just as quickly. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and nodded slowly instead. Damon, however, wasn't fooled. He set down his glass and cocked an eyebrow at her demeanour.

"Is something wrong?"

Bonnie dropped her arms. She had his full attention now, and what was worse was she had actually heard trace amounts of concern laced in his tone—concern for her.

"No, I just—I don't think I can make it this Friday," she mumbled, trying to think of a graceful segue for what she really wanted to say, what she had been trying to work herself up to say for the better part of two weeks.

"But you just told me you didn't have plans," Damon said, his voice hardening with suspicion. "Am I mistaken in assuming that I can take my girlfriend out on a date if she has no plans?"

Bonnie's tongue nervously darted along her upper lip and she shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't have any plans, but I don't want to go out to dinner with you, Damon."

"And why not?" A muscle worked in his jaw, and he tried his best not to outright scream at her or accuse her of a list of offences that were quickly multiplying by the second inside his head. "We don't have to go out to dinner. We can go to the movies or a club or just stay in. Stefan's bound to have some sappy romantic chick flick hidden around here somewhere, nestled between his tampons and an original copy of _The Bell Jar_."

Bonnie didn't even crack a smile. "Damon, I—I think we should break up."

He went completely still. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me."

His lips compressed into a hard, thin line. "Not correctly, I didn't." When Bonnie confidently met his gaze, he walked around the bar and stood directly in front of her. He studied her carefully. "I believe you're saying that you want to leave me," he said slowly, tempering his tone with difficulty. "I wasn't aware you were unhappy with our... _situation_."

Bonnie lifted her chin defiantly. "I am."

"I see." He brought his hand to her hair and curled a dark lock around his middle finger before letting go. "So, you're fucking someone else then?"

Bonnie flinched at the savagery of his words, but kept her eyes trained on his. "No, Damon, I am not cheating on you."

He raised an eyebrow at her response, but he could feel his temper rising to the boiling point—to the point of no return. She might not be cheating on him now, but she wanted to see other people, other _men_. She wanted to fuck _someone else_. Why else would she want to break up with him?

"What brought about this sudden... revelation?" Damon's lip curled into an ugly sneer and he prowled around her. "Decided that you _loathe_ me again? Back to seeing the world in black and white, good witches versus _evil_ vampires?"

"Of course not." Bonnie had decided to ignore the heavy sarcasm in his voice. "I just feel like this relationship—or whatever it is—has run its course. We've been together for three months—"

"Four," Damon corrected, and then internally cursed himself for keeping count.

"—and we both knew this was just for fun." She shrugged nonchalantly, as though this were nothing, as if _he_ were nothing. "Neither of us wants to be tied down."

"Tied down?" he echoed darkly.

"Yes." She waited for his reaction, waited for his eyes to show relief or irritation that _he_ wasn't the one ending the relationship. But Damon just lapsed into one of his episodes of pointed silence and, to Bonnie's chagrin, the only expression he wore was that of latent anger.

"All right." He nodded after a moment. "If that's what you want," he added with frigid politeness.

"It's what we _both _want, Damon. And thank you for understanding." She waited a moment before turning to leave, but he didn't say anything. "Well, then, I guess I'll be going. See you around, Damon. I'd like for us to remain—"

"Take care, Judgey." Damon's face was impassive. "I'm sure I'll see you at the next Scooby gang meeting."

Bonnie hesitated and then smirked. "Considering you and I are the only two who can devise credible plans to save Elena and this town then, yeah, I guess I'll see you soon." And with that, Bonnie turned around and left.

The second her back was turned, Damon shut his eyes. The click of the door closing behind her echoed throughout the room, and he opened his eyes to search for the closest, not-bolted-to-the-floor object in sight. Wrapping his fingers around the neck of a Tiffany lamp, he launched it across the room with unmasked fury. It smashed loudly against the wall, barely masking the roar that erupted from his mouth.

Goddamn that witch! Four months! They had been together for _four_ months! He tried to remember the last time he had gone out with a girl for that long—a human girl—and he gave up. Did she really think he didn't care, that this was all just for fun? Maybe it was in the beginning, but now...

The room was silent and empty, eerily so. Damon knew he was being foolish; the room was no more silent and no more empty than it had been before Bonnie had come and gone, leaving him with the knowledge that she was gone for good. She had left _him_. She had left him and he was alone, again.

He walked back over to the bar and picked up his unfinished drink. He hated himself for the pathetic thoughts that were unwillingly surfacing in his mind as he topped off his drink with angry, shaking hands. What had he done wrong? He hadn't killed anyone—at least not anyone that didn't need killing. He hadn't drunk directly from the source in, well, four months. He hadn't looked at another woman, much less thought of someone else other than Bonnie. He hadn't even flirted with Elena. So he wasn't guilty in those departments.

He hadn't smothered her with attention, either. He hadn't been his usual overbearing, obsessive self. He had given Bonnie the independence she had firmly informed him that she wanted, even though he wanted to suffocate her at times, wanted to stalk her every movement. And Lord knows how hard he tried not to let his obsession show. He knew how she hated that about him, with what she had seen him demonstrate with Elena and Katherine. But if he couldn't obsess over his feelings and insecurities over her, he had at least wanted her to depend on him, to pine after him. Was that too much to ask for?

God how he just wanted to be with her sometimes—all the time—to feel the smoothness of her thighs beneath his hands, to explore every sun-kissed curve on her body, to bathe in the heat of her skin, to bury himself between the wet folds of her—

Damon shook his head with a grimace, as if he could rid the treacherous thoughts and the natural inclination of his body with this simple action. _Fuck this_, he told himself. He had clearly done nothing wrong; so whatever the problem with their relationship was it was Bonnie's problem, Bonnie's fault. Maybe she didn't want him anymore. Maybe she never wanted him to begin with. Maybe she was only using him to get to someone else. Maybe it was all one big fucking joke and he was the punchline.

The tumbler shattered in his hand and the dark, sticky alcohol sprayed across his neck and chest. He unclenched his hand that had formed into a fist, letting the pieces of glass break apart and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal had splintered into his palm as bourbon and blood ran down his wrist in rivulets, staining the rug dark below.

Goddamn her! Goddamn her all to hell! That witch had no idea what she had done.

* * *

A/N: I admit I've been toying with the idea of writing a fic where Damon and Bonnie are already dating and then Bonnie breaks things off—mainly because she is starting to fall in love with him and she thinks he's still in love with Elena. Naturally, Damon, being Damon, would go postal—even if the relationship was originally built on the foundation of 'having fun' together.


	6. Moving On

Yup, this is a continuation of _The Break Up_—from Bonnie's PoV.

* * *

Moving On

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**.**

**.**

Bonnie wasn't quite sure where to go after Damon's, but somehow she ended up on Caroline's doorstep. Unsurprisingly, Elena was also inside. The two girls were seated on the sofa, watching _Dirty Dancing_ with a large bowl of popcorn shared between them.

"We've been texting you for the past twenty minutes!" Caroline complained, ushering her best friend to sit between her and Elena.

"Sorry, I was at Damon's," she muttered, sinking into the cushion once Elena removed the bowl and set it on the coffee table.

"Where is he?" Elena glanced at the door, as if expecting the older Salvatore brother to come waltzing in and join them at any moment.

"Back at the boarding house, I assume." Bonnie shrugged indifferently. "Or off getting wasted at The Grill."

Caroline and Elena shared an uneasy look. "Why would Damon be getting wasted at The Grill?" Elena asked hesitantly.

"Because I broke up with him." Bonnie bent over and scooped up a handful of popcorn, shovelling a few buttery popped kernels into her mouth. "Either he's drinking to celebrate or to lament the fact that he didn't think of dumping me first."

Elena frowned. "You broke up with him? Why? You two seemed to be getting along so well..."

"You mean we lasted longer than anyone expected?" Bonnie snorted derisively, raising a brow in umbrage before shaking her head with a sigh. "Look, Elena, you and I both know that he's still not over you. And I can't be in a relationship with a guy who's in love with one of my best friends."

A guilty expression instantly stole over the tall brunette's face and she went silent for a moment. Caroline took this opportunity to bounce onto the seat next to Bonnie and throw an affectionate arm over her shoulder. "Well, good for you, Bons," she declared proudly, offering her distraught friend a winning smile. "You're too good for Damon, anyway. Waaaay too good."

Elena nodded in agreement but Bonnie merely shrugged, letting out a long, protracted sigh. "Yeah, well, it was all for the best."

She shovelled another handful of popcorn into her mouth, not wanting to say any more. Bonnie didn't want to admit that Damon still being in love with Elena wasn't her _only_ reason for wanting to end their relationship. She could live with his doppelgänger obsession—and did live with it for three months—but that was when she didn't love him.

Over the past few weeks Bonnie's feelings had begun to change and deepen for the dark-haired vampire. Thus she came to the regretful conclusion that she had to get away from Damon before he broke her heart permanently. It was for the best she had reasoned, but right now she just felt like shit—for herself and Damon. But he'd get over soon, much sooner than she would; if he wasn't already getting over it with another woman in his bed.

Bonnie tried hard not to growl at the thought. She had no right to get jealous or upset over Damon returning to his playboy ways. She had dumped him. Lord knows she didn't want to—and she'd deny that fact to the grave—because Damon was fun, hilarious, sexy, and challenging. No one else knew how to keep her constantly on her toes like he did. There was never a dull moment in their relationship, and when the arguments got heated, which they often did, so did the sex. Even non-argumentative sex with Damon could curl her toes and plaster a perma-smile on her lips. It wasn't even the vampire aspect that did it for her, because, honestly, Bonnie wasn't a vampire groupie. She wasn't a death-lover like her best friend, Elena. The vampire aspect of Damon she could have done without, but she couldn't deny that normal no longer did it for her; she needed the supernatural.

Damon, Bonnie had come to experience first-hand, was a thorough lover; making sure to get her off before he did. On top of that he was generous and sweet. Yes, Damon Salvatore could be sweet—behind closed doors, of course. Lying in bed together, coming down from their post-coital bliss, he would tell her stories about his travels (PG-rated) and his past, even recount his childhood with Stefan, secretly divulging how they were once best friends—two halves of the same whole.

Other times he'd read to her in bed or in the study—the works of Ovid and Virgil and countless other Roman and Greek philosophers and poets. He was a romantic at heart. He'd also make her listen music she didn't generally gravitate towards, like Vivaldi, Bach, and Hendel, and then he'd dip her toes into the blue notes of her own culture, playing the works of Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, and Nina Simone.

They'd just sit with one another for hours, never saying a word, never trading a barb; just sharing the occasional knowing look, the conspiratorial smiles and soft laughs. Bonnie never thought she could be so comfortable or so at ease with someone—and it was with Damon Salvatore of all people!

Originally, they had got together out of convenience, out of the need to clear the air between them. The unresolved sexual tension had been mounting for years, and one day Bonnie just decided to take Damon up on his offer and put an end to it. Well, it was more complicated than that, but what she had initially intended to be a one-time thing had become weekly and then daily and before she knew it they were dating.

Neither had put a label to what they were doing or who they were to one another. Today was the first time Damon had called her his girlfriend, and it had shocked Bonnie to the core. She had a feeling he had come to care for her in his own way, had become habituated to her new role in his life. She was no longer his frenemy, his witch to go to for a quick mojo solution, his partner in crime; she had become more than that; she had become his lover, his confident, his comrade.

And Bonnie quickly found herself becoming complacent. But every time Elena was in the room with them Bonnie would watch to see his eyes drift longingly to her, and it created a bruise on Bonnie's fragile heart. As much as she tried to shake it off, pretend it wasn't there, the bruise only swelled and spread. She was already in too deep but maybe not deep enough that she could avoid drowning. And so Bonnie decided to swim back to the safe, Damon-free shores. She would miss the waters—the way they caressed, soothed, and licked at her skin—but her heart would be safer.

Before Bonnie knew it, the movie was over and Caroline had got up to pop in a new one, _Footloose_. Apparently they were on an '80s dancing flicks kick tonight. The blonde vampire was about to settle back down on the sofa and press play, when a loud series of knocks rapped on the front door. Caroline made her way to the foyer and opened the door wide, revealing a ruffled-looking Stefan.

"Stefan!" Caroline positively beamed, and Elena's interest was instantly piqued as she swivelled around so quickly Bonnie was sure the girl was going to break her own neck. "I'd invite you in to stay but this is girls' night. And while you know I consider you my girl, girls' night requires the lack of certain, uh, anatomical parts."

"Stefan?" Elena rose to her feet, taking a tentative step towards the younger Salvatore brother, while offering him a bashful smile. "How are you?"

Stefan spared Elena a brief glance before stepping through the threshold and past Caroline, making his way straight for Bonnie. "Bonnie, I've been trying to call you."

"I had my phone turned off," she answered absently, the corner of her eyebrow dimpling with bemusement. "Stefan, what's wrong?"

"It's Damon." His smooth forehead was doing that wrinkling, brooding thing it did, and Bonnie felt her heart plummet into her stomach. Something was wrong; something was seriously wrong.

"What is it? What has he done?"

All eyes went to Stefan, waiting for the answer that would surely rock their small town world forever.

* * *

A/N: What has Damon done, Stefan? With the older Salvatore brother the possibilities are endless. He could be drowning his tears in booze and weeping like a hormonal pregnant woman or shagging Katherine and Bekah at the same time or bathing in the blood of the townsfolk of Mystic Falls or sitting down for tea and crumpets with the Queen. Well, maybe not the latter (although I'd love to see that). Nonetheless, whatever he's doing is most likely diabolical, self-destructive, and not at all a good idea—at least not where Bonnie's concerned.

PS. You honestly didn't assume this story would get better, did you? Lol. I have to admit I am sorely tempted to turn this arc into a chaptered fic and will probably do so once I've finished a couple of my other projects. Consider these two ficlets the prologue _in medias res_. There will have to be an explanation for why and how these two crazy kids got together in the first place—and what Bonnie's gonna do now that Damon is _potentially_ wreaking havoc and painting the town red. (She created a monster, I tells ya!)


	7. Co-Workers

A/N: I decided to write something rather AU with Bonnie and Damon where they are slightly closer in age (six-seven year age gap). It's an all-human TVD world set in an office environment. What? I'm not projecting... much.

Anyway, this is just a vignette. I'm thinking about turning it into a chaptered fic at some point... if you all agree. ;)

* * *

Co-Workers

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**.**

**.**

Damon had left work more than two hours ago and was in the midst of packing a bag for the weekend when he realised he had left his phone at work. Cursing to himself, he jumped in his Camaro and sped to the office in record time (and without receiving a speeding ticket!). The security guard had instantly recognised the dark-haired Salvatore and let him inside.

Taking the stairs because they were faster, Damon made his way to his shared office, noting the sliver of light pooling out from underneath the half-closed door with a frown. He pushed open the door to reveal his young co-worker, Bonnie Bennett, sitting at her desk with her feet up and her lovely face pressed between the pages of a book.

Her sleek black pumps were dangling off her tiny feet and her legs, which were regrettably covered in dark grey pinstripe dress pants, were crossed at the ankle. Her tailored business jacket had been shed and was hanging off the back of the chair, revealing a form-fitting white silk camisole underneath. The colour contrasted perfectly against her bronzed complexion, showing off her well-sculpted arms and flawless skin that looked like nothing short of whipped milk chocolate. Her hair was still done up in a side-sweeping French Twist, showcasing a delicate column of neck that just begged to be licked. The only thing missing were a pair of rectangular black-rimmed glasses and Damon's sexy librarian slash office vixen fantasy would have been complete.

Shaking the rebellious thoughts from his head, Damon pursed his lips together in a frown. "What are you still doing here?"

"Hmm?" Bonnie absently glanced up from her book, not at all shocked by his presence. "Damon, what are you doing here?"

"I believe I asked first." He spotted his phone on his desk and picked it up, waving it at her in answer. "You're not planning on sleeping here tonight, are you?"

Although Damon had phrased the question in a facetious manner, the idea of Bonnie camping out at work, sadly, wasn't all that absurd a notion. Bonnie Bennett had a work ethic that made his father, Giuseppe Salvatore, look like a lazy bum in comparison. The young woman seemed to take the term workaholic as her personal creed.

While Damon had managed to survive working with Bonnie for the past two months, he was still getting used to her little idiosyncrasies—mainly her unflagging work ethic, which tended to foil his lack of one. Their initial meeting hadn't exactly been cordial; in fact, it had been downright hostile. Bonnie, however, had turned out to be a lot nicer than she had initially let on. Although she could still out smart-mouth and sass-talk the best of them, which included himself. She always had a comeback ready; always ready, willing, and able to spike his serve.

Though Bonnie might not have been Damon's most favourite person on the planet, he had come to respect her; to respect her intelligence and drive and the fact that she never let him get away with shit. Normally someone calling him on his bullshit annoyed him to no end, but with Bonnie it was different. Hell, he even let her get away with her unintentional cock-blocking at work, which was just as well since there was no one who really caught his fancy. There was just something so judgemental and holier-than-thou about Bonnie Bennett that Damon had oddly come to appreciate her for it, like it was a rare gift. She was a white unicorn prancing on a rainbow. Well, maybe not that fantastical, but she had become an exceptional person in his books.

However, for the past few weeks the fast-talking, quick-thinking ball of sarcastic wit that was Bonnie Bennett had seemed to be teetering on the edge of sanity. She had been keeping absurdly late hours at work and even came in on the weekends which, in his opinion, was downright absurd. It was like the girl didn't have a life outside of work. But this potential sleeping-at-work business was unexplored territory, and Damon didn't want to get involved.

"No, no. I just wanted to get some work done. I'll head home in a few hours."

A few hours? It was almost eight, and it didn't look like she had even eaten yet. "Are you—" he wanted to say 'insane' "—okay?"

"Huh? Me?" Her nose went back in her book. "Yeah, sure, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? I mean... it's not normal for a pretty young woman such as yourself to spend her weekends holed up at the office."

Bonnie glanced up and quirked an eyebrow at him. "And _you_ know what's normal for young—" she couldn't say 'pretty' "—women?"

"I know most young women prefer to get laid," he quipped, leaning back against the doorframe as he casually inspected his nails. Bonnie scrunched her nose in distaste, but Damon merely crossed his arms over his chest. "You're young and attractive, Bonnie; you should be going out on dates on Friday nights, not working."

She exhaled noisily, lowering her feet back down to the floor. "Being young doesn't mean I have to spend my time searching for a boyfriend. I find fulfilment elsewhere." She shrugged uncomfortably. "Besides, it's not like there's an abundance of men to choose from around here. They're all either married or gay or old or—or _you_," she said in a rather accusatory tone, as though it was Damon's fault that Mystic Falls and the surrounding areas were sorely lacking in available bachelors.

"Hey." Damon pointed at himself, feeling offended for reasons he could not explain. "I'll have you know I am an _amazing_ date."

"Pfft," Bonnie snorted, barely acknowledging his self-promotion. "Whatever. It's not like I need a man for my life to have purpose."

"No?" Damon dug his shoulder into the doorframe. "Your work gives you purpose, huh?"

"You know..." She paused to sigh. "There probably was a point in my life when that realisation would have stricken me with horror, but now it just passes me by."

"Yes, well, that _is_ sad," Damon said, unwilling to argue the point any further. "You're wasting your youth, Bonnie." But the girl in question merely rolled her eyes, as if to say that he had no idea what he was talking about, and Damon turned to leave. "Well, I'm off. Enjoy your... _this_."

"Yup." She waved him off. "See you tomorrow."

"I'm not coming in tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. "It's the weekend."

"You're not coming in?" Bonnie suddenly sprang up out of her seat and ran after him down the hallway. "But, Damon, our deadline's this Wednesday!"

"Yeah, so? We have Monday and Tuesday to finish."

"But we're not even close to being done yet! You know it'll take longer than two days."

Damon stopped and turned as a muscle worked in his jaw. "Well, if you wanted me to stay, Bennett, you should've told me earlier. I've already made plans for the weekend. I've got to leave town for DC tonight."

"Can't you cancel? You can't expect me to finish all of this by myself."

"No, _Bonnie_, I can't cancel," he ground out behind gritted teeth. "I'll help you finish on Monday. There's really not that much left to do anyway." Sometimes he secretly suspected that she created more work for herself just to have something to get worked up over. It drove him up the wall.

"I should've known this would happen," she muttered under her breath.

"Should've known _what_ would happen?" Damon demanded, feeling his blood pressure rise.

"That the minute we had an understanding, the moment I thought I could rely on you, you'd leave me here to do all the work."

"Oh, that is bullshit!" His mercury-blue eyes bulged wide. "Don't try to pin this or any of your relationship problems on me, Bennett. It's not my fault you're trying so desperately to fill the emotional void in your life with work. And you shouldn't expect _me_ to drop _my_ plans just to make yourself feel less lonely and pathetic."

Bonnie scoffed. "Oh, that is fucking rich coming from _you_. Lonely and pathetic? You want to talk about emotional voids, Mr Playboy? Have you even _been_ in a real relationship?" When Damon only glared at her in response, as if he could burn a hole in her face with his eyes, Bonnie shook her head. "No, because all you have are one night stands!"

"At least I'm _having_ sex!"

"At least _I'm_ not deluded enough to think that having meaningless sex actually means something!"

Wait, why were they talking about sex and relationships in the first place?

"Piss off, Bennett!"

"Go to hell, Salvatore!"

"Gladly!"

They glared at each other for one dangerously tense moment as the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity. Then, in a fit of angry synchronisation, they both spun on their heels and stormed off in opposite directions.


	8. Thursday

Thursday

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**.**

**.**

_"This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays." _

_- _Arthur Dent, _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_

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**.**

Bonnie was furious, absolutely furious.

She angrily kicked at the ground, sending chunks of dirt and grass flying everywhere. Not knowing what to do with her hands, which were currently unclenching and clenching into fists, she stuffed them in her pockets with a growl. What she needed to do was calm the hell down, recompose herself, and come up with a devious plan of recourse against her tormentor—something that involved inflicting a great deal of pain.

Her tormentor in question was none other than Damon Salvatore. Was there really anyone else in Bonnie's life who had the gall and insensitivity to cause her so much suffering, anguish, and frustration? He always went one step—no, a dozen steps!—too far. It was like the idiot had a perpetual death wish. No one—and she meant _no one_—messed with a Bennett witch, especially some cocksure vampire with delusions of grandeur.

He had stolen her grimoire of all things, and the thought of his betrayal had Bonnie's blood boiling with rage. She hastened her steps to reach her car, her mind swimming with murderous thoughts. Once safely inside the Prius, she turned the key in the ignition and idly recounted what had transpired only a few short hours ago...

**.**

**.**

**.**

Bonnie had woken up on her stomach, her body spread eagle with her face mashed into a soft, fluffy pillow. Her head throbbed, filled with a misty haze that smothered her memories of the previous night, although a few images bubbled to the surface: the old witches' house, her grimoire, a spell that didn't work—all typical. However, the pain shooting at the back of her head right now wasn't a potential migraine brought on by faulty magic but rather by Tracy Chapman's low timbre warbling in her ears.

_If you knew that you would be alone  
Knowing right, being wrong  
Would you change?_

She turned her head towards the sound. One green eye opened hesitantly at first and then the other, before eyeing the offending alarm clock with disdain.

_If you knew that you would find a truth  
That brings a pain that can't be soothed  
Would you change?_

Currently lacking the powers to make the clock explode with her mind, Bonnie's hand smashed down on the snooze button without mercy. Chapman's dulcet tones were effectively silenced, and Bonnie mumbled incoherently into her pillow. It wasn't the song or Chapman's voice that offended, but the audacity of her alarm attempting to rouse her from her peaceful slumber.

Groaning into her shoulder, Bonnie slowly turned her head towards the sun that was filtering through her bedroom window. It kissed her skin, warming it to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and she begrudgingly blinked open mossy green eyes. The sun was already climbing high in the bright blue sky as the birds courted one another with love songs. It was another lovely warm summer's morning in Mystic Falls. Animals would be frolicking in the forests and stream and the undead who weren't Originals or without day rings would be cowering in a dark cave or basement somewhere.

Breathing deeply, Bonnie rolled over onto her back and brought her hands up to her neck to stretch, languidly twisting until the vertebrae popped back into their proper places. Next came a series of jaw-cracking yawns followed by the smacking of lips, thirsty for water. Slowly, Bonnie stirred from her bed; sitting up and parting the thin duvet covers to reveal smooth bare legs underneath. Wriggling her toes, the petite witch rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head, ready to take on the day.

After a brief shower and brushing her teeth, she made her way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. Armed with her iPad and dressed in a bathrobe, slippers, and a towel wrapped around her head, Bonnie tested the coffee with a slight wince before adding another spoonful of sugar. Sweeter was better. What she really craved right now was a tall glass of orange juice, but she had just brushed her teeth and knew it would only taste God-awful. She'd rinse that fluoride and spearmint taste out of her mouth with a good ol' cup of java.

Picking up her mug and a bowl of Mini Shredded Wheat, she set them both on the kitchen table before fetching her tablet and sitting down. She read the news as she ate, absently spooning the cereal into her mouth and washing it down with gulps of coffee. Normally she was a tea person, but her head still felt foggy and thick, even after the shower. What she needed was a burst of energy that would wake her ass up, and coffee always did the trick. It was her cure-all-ails.

After breakfast she washed the dishes and tried to think back on how her spell from the previous night might have failed. It had been Damon's idea—a joint protection spell that would keep both her and him free from Silas's manipulation. Since Silas was so easily able to get inside the Originals' heads, as well as Bonnie's, Damon figured he really didn't stand a chance without some witchy mojo on his side.

Oddly enough, Damon had also expressed a concern for Bonnie's welfare. He had told her that Silas manipulating vampires was one thing, but controlling a Bennett witch deeply immersed in Expression magic was something altogether different and vastly more dangerous. Begrudgingly, Bonnie had to agree.

What she needed was to be grounded and have her powers put in check. As the self-proclaimed mastermind of the group, and the only one besides herself who was able to do what needed to be done regardless of the costs, Damon figured he was the perfect person for the job. Bonnie, however, did not feel the same. She didn't want to be tied to the arrogant vampire in any fashion. But in order to defeat Silas both of them would need to be free of his hypnosis; and short of ritual suicide this was really the only way.

After an hour searching through her grimoire, Bonnie had found a protection spell with a hitch; it was also a bonding spell. But it wasn't any run-of-the-mill bonding spell (though she idly wondered what a run-of-the-mill-bonding spell would entail); it was blood-bonding, the oldest and strongest bonding magic there was. It created a bond so strong that no outside force could interfere. Those bound to one another could not be compelled or spelled against and were able to protect each other through the blood they shared. Ultimately, they could shoulder each other's pain, becoming two halves of the same whole; yin and yang. _Yada, yada._

Of course, Bonnie vehemently opposed the idea. She didn't fancy being tied to Damon, sharing his pain or getting inside that dark, twisted mind of his, or anything otherwise. Plus there was always the off-chance that if one of them died, so would the other. However, Damon had assured her that the spell was reversible and the fact that they would be sharing energy would benefit Bonnie greatly; since she would be tied to the undead, Damon would be able to mute her powers. Immune to Silas's manipulation and no longer consumed by Expression, it looked to be their best bet, a win-win scenario. _Yeah, right._

But in the end it was only a fanciful dream, considering it didn't work. After performing the spell Bonnie had felt no link with Damon nor did her powers appear to be under control. In fact, the spell had caused her to black out, waking up several hours later in her own bed. Bonnie figured her magic was a bust or it was the spell itself since it was only meant to bind two witches or a human with a witch, not a witch with a vampire. Whatever the case, it clearly didn't work. She would have to consult her grimoire for another spell.

Speaking of spell books, she must have left hers at the witches' house because it was nowhere in sight. After she had performed the spell late last night (or early morning, depending on how one viewed it), she must have passed out from exhaustion. Damon clearly drove her home, though how he managed to deposit her in her bed without an official invite was something she would have to discuss with him at a later point in time. So with no grimoire on her person or anywhere in her house, the only conclusion she could reach was that she must have left it behind at the witches' house.

An hour and a half later, after drying her hair, getting dressed, and dragging her sluggish ass into her vehicle, Bonnie pulled up to the abandoned mansion. Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, she exited the car and walked up the overgrown path. As she drew closer to the house, a weird yet oddly nostalgic sensation washed over her. Something felt off, not quite right; though to be honest she had felt this way since she woke up. But the scene before her seemed wrong somehow; the house looked different, the air around her smelt funny. Or maybe she was just seeing things that weren't there; the result of an overworked and overstressed mind at play. The spell must have taken more out of her than she had originally surmised.

Bonnie still couldn't believe Damon had convinced her to do the spell here of all places, what with less-than-friendly relationship with the dead witches; they weren't exactly BFFs for life. And by all accounts, Bonnie shouldn't have been practising magic in the first place, not with her tenuous grasp on Expression. This spell, however, seemed to be her last hope to get a grip on her powers, and she figured if anyone could stop her from doing something stupid, it would be Damon—as odd-sounding as that reasoning was to her own ears. Plus, performing the spell on hallowed grounds where a hundred witches died couldn't have hurt—or it'd hurt a lot if they objected.

Already inside, Bonnie carefully made her way down into the basement. She stepped into the vacant room and stood in the middle of the black pentagram surrounded by long-melted away candles. The white wax had left a mess of intricate greying patterns on the floor, but there was no grimoire nearby. Nothing. Where could she have left it?

"Where is it?" She began mumbling frantically to herself as she tore through the shelves and flipped over furniture in her search. "Where is it!"

If the witches were there—and, yes, she could feel their presence—they were unwilling to point her in the right direction. Frustrated and desperate, Bonnie pulled out her phone and began texting the last person she'd ask for help, but ultimately went to anyway.

_Get over here, now!_

Thirty seconds later...

_Hello to you too, Ms Demanding. _A beat later, another message popped up_. Where is _'_here'?_

Her fingers ghosted over the screen._ The witches' house._

There was no immediate response, so she began counting away the seconds: thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight... She sucked on her teeth and impatiently tapped her foot on the floor before tapping her fingers on her phone.

_Damon?_

One minute later, he finally responded. _I'm coming! Keep your shirt on, witch! Or don't. ;)_

Bonnie rolled her eyes and clicked off her phone, stuffing it back in her pocket. At least he was coming. She really shouldn't have felt relief at the news. It wasn't like he was going to be much help to her, but two sets of eyes were better than one—especially when one of them had vampire vision.

Twenty minutes later and still picking cobwebs out of her hair, Bonnie heard the front door open. Shortly thereafter, a sharp yell and a few choice expletives sung sharply in the musty air.

"Son of a bitch!" Damon cursed, clutching at his head as he stumbled down the stairs. "I get it! I get it! You don't like me! The feeling's mutual, you grumpy-ass witches."

"Damon?" Bonnie rounded the corner to find the dark-haired vampire directing her the kind of look that signalled he was about to maim someone (probably her) and abruptly flee the premises, and not necessarily in that order.

"Hey, since I'm doing you a favour here by showing up at your beck and call, you think you could get your annoying ancestors to vacate my head?"

"Aww, but then that one brain cell of yours would be so lonely."

"Ha-ha." He winced as another magically induced aneurysm popped inside his head (and for once it wasn't brought upon by the witch standing in the flesh in front of him).

"At least they're not setting you on fire." Bonnie tried not to smirk but failed miserably. She was mildly surprised he showed up to the house in the first place, let alone during the day when he was the most vulnerable (since the witches liked to render his day ring useless).

"Bon-_nie_!" Damon's pathetic moan broke through her errant thoughts and she took pity on the vampire.

She quickly informed the witches that Damon was there to help, not hinder, but that they were free to fry him if he did or said anything stupid or especially Damon-like, which was synonymous with impulsively vindictive. A few ominous whispers and audible groans later, the painful look in Damon's eyes vacated, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"I do not like your family," he said, rubbing at his forehead. "You realise if we get married, we're gonna have to elope."

"Damon, only in Bizarro World would an unholy union between you and me ever be considered."

The dark-haired vampire studied her seriously for a moment before leaning in close. "Bonnie, that has got to be the _single most_ sexiest thing you have ever said to me."

Trying not to grin, Bonnie rolled her eyes instead and muttered a quiet "asshat," under her breath. Damon, however, was not opposed to smirking as he reached over and plucked the last cobweb from her hair and lifted a dark eyebrow in jest.

"So, can we take this conversation outside where I'm least likely to get set on fire?" He swirled a finger in the air. "By _them_."

"No, Damon, I called you here for a reason. I need your help with finding my grimoire. I'd ask Matt but he's at work, and it's not like I can ask my other friends, who all happen to be vampires." _Or thrice-attempted best friend-murdering bitches_. "The witches hate them almost as much as they hate you, and I'm afraid they might do something to really hurt them."

"They really hurt _me_!"

"Yeah, but I'm totally okay with that."

"Of course you are." Damon crossed his arms over his chest and huffed rather petulantly. "So, why do you think your witchy cookbook's here?"

"You're the one who drove me home last night after I passed out from doing that stupid spell—the one that you _begged_ me to do and failed."

"Hey, I do not beg," Damon corrected with a finger poised in the air. "But, yeah, you did fail—_epically_."

"Moving on." Her eyes had darkened a forest green, and if looks could kill, Damon would be a smoking heap of ash on the wooden floor right now. "Since I don't remember bringing the book home with me, being passed out and all, you might be able to fill in some of the blanks and tell me where it is, exactly."

Damon scrunched up his nose in distaste before turning his head this way and that, briefly taking in the décor of the room. "Well, I don't see it here."

"Astute observation. I could have never figured that out on my own—what with only having two working pairs of eyes and all."

"What do you want? It's not like I have X-ray vision, Bonnie. I can't see through walls."

"Are there walls to see through, Damon?" She lifted her shoulders in an impatient shrug. "Tell me where to look. You remember last night better than I do. I passed out, if you recall."

Grumbling to himself, Damon stuffed his fists in his pockets and began walking about the room until his boots touched the edge of the pentagram. "I don't know what you did with your grimoire, Bonnie. I was more concerned with getting you home safely than sorting out your book collection."

"So, you're basically saying that my grimoire should be where I left it?" She walked over to where he stood. "Which is right _here_."

He shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, I guess so."

"But it's _not_ here." Bonnie pointed at the ground and circled the area again. A deep frown settled on her features, and an odd feeling rumbled in her gut. Something wasn't right here, not right at all. Suddenly the floorboards began to creak and groan and a hundred whispering voices filled the air.

"What is it? What are they saying?"

Bonnie raised a hand to silence the vampire. "Just gimme a second."

She cocked her head to the side and listened as the witches spoke to her all at once. But, again, something was wrong. It was as though their voices were garbled, distorted somehow. She knew the witches weren't pleased with her as of late, but they had never acted like this before. Their voices were either crystal clear or there were no voices at all. But the three words she did manage to catch before the whispering stopped were Damon's name and 'stole it'.

"Damon," Bonnie growled, slowly turning around to face the vampire. "_What_ did you do?"

His brow knit in annoyance. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that 'nothing' crap!" she snapped, before punctuating each word with an aneurysm delivered to his brain. "You. Stole. My. Grimoire. Damon. Why?"

He clutched at his head in pain, trying desperately not to fall to his knees. "I didn't steal anything, Bonnie!"

"You were the one who asked me to do that stupid spell!" Her hands curled into fists and she punched her thighs, trying to talk herself out of setting the stupid-ass vampire on fire. "Why get me to do a busted spell and when it fails you go and steal my grimoire? Was this all a trick, some sort of set-up?"

Before she could give him another aneurysm and force him to answer her question, Damon had already taken advantage of her brief mind-splitting reprieve and ghosted out of the room. Hell, he had probably vacated the house and the surrounding premises as far as she knew.

"Damon!" she yelled, hearing only the echo of her own voice in the empty room. "Damon, you rat bastard! Get back here and die!"

**.**

**.**

**.**

Merging into the left lane, Bonnie was making her way to the boarding house in record time.

After Damon left, Bonnie had tried to perform a locator spell on his undead ass, but it didn't work. In fact, she couldn't use magic at all. She must have overdone it with the aneurysms she gave him earlier. It would probably be a few hours before she would recharge and be back to full strength. But Bonnie couldn't wait that long; she had decided enough was enough. She could spend the entire day looking for her grimoire on her own or she could go straight to the source and beat the book's whereabouts out of the bug-eyed bastard himself.

Oh, yes, there would be pain. Bonnie's anger towards Damon at this point was visceral. For once she was glad she didn't have her powers because she wanted the tactile pleasure of maiming Damon Salvatore with her bare hands. Her methods of torture sans magic would be somewhat limited; staking him would be too quick and painless and ripping out his heart lacked a certain poetic symbolism since, in Bonnie's opinion, Damon didn't have a heart. But maybe she could test his threshold for pain by tearing off one of his legs and bludgeoning him to death with it. It might not kill him, but there was no harm in trying. A for effort and all that.

After parking her car, and with little warning or by way of greeting, Bonnie promptly stormed into the boarding house, figurative guns blazing. Semi-muted powers quivered in her hands, but she curled them into fists as she stomped about the place in search of her quarry, who just so happened to be heating a mug of blood in the microwave.

"Where is it?" she growled, staring Damon down with eyes darkening viridian. She could feel her own magic curl the fine hairs on the nape of her neck, sending small electrostatic shocks throughout her body. Apparently she was sooner to recharging her powers than originally anticipated.

"Where's what?" Damon retrieved his mug from the microwave and took a tentative sip, causing Bonnie angrily fold her arms beneath her breasts.

"Oh, don't act stupid—_stupider_."

"That's not even a word!"

"I don't care!" She took several long strides across the room to reach him and dug an index finger into his hard chest before getting right up in his face. "Gimme back my grimoire, Damon. I know you have it."

"You do, do you?" He carefully lifted her finger off his person and leaned down until his nose was only inches from hers. "Then you should know it's in a safe place."

"The safest place it can be is in _my_ possession, not yours." She snatched her hand away with a hiss, as though the contact had burnt the flesh. "I'm not playing around here, Damon."

"Don't I know it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." His electric blue eyes studied her face with unaccustomed intensity. "I'll give you back your precious cookbook tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Bonnie balled her hands into fists before invading Damon's space once more. "That's not good enough. I want it now!"

Damon's fingers went to her chin, lifting as his thumb played over her bottom lip. "Aww, aren't we adorable?" he cooed, and Bonnie's eyes widened to saucer-like proportions. "But, my answer will have to be 'no'."

"I'm not _asking_ for you to give it back, Damon; I'm _telling_ you." She snapped her head back out of his grasp and narrowed her eyes. "It's _my_ grimoire. Mine! You had no right to steal it from me!"

"Ah, but technically it's Sheila's cookbook." He waggled a finger in front of her nose. "And I didn't steal it, I... _borrowed_ it."

Bonnie palmed her face in frustration. She didn't have the time or the patience to deal with Damon's childish crap. Expression magic was eating her alive from the inside out, and she needed to figure out how to control it. Consulting her grimoire was her only resort right now. But more than that was the fact that she felt naked without the spell book. It was her only real link to her Grams, and Damon had stolen it from underneath her nose; and she had absolutely no clue why.

"Why, Damon?" She exhaled wearily. She felt like she was seventeen going on sixty-five. "Why did you take it?"

His eyes met hers for a moment, doing that intense scrutiny thing he did that normally freaked her the hell out, and which was usually only reserved for Elena. It was a power-play tactic, an attempt to read her mind and intimidate her all at once. However, it seemed more like a battle of wits between a cat and its owner; each waiting to see who would look away first. But Bonnie was no cat and no cat owner, and no matter how fed up she was with Damon or her own magic, she refused to look away. She would not back down.

As though sensing her stubborn refusal like kindred spirits often do, Damon smirked. "You're just gonna have to trust me on this, Bonnie." He placed his hand over his heart. "I only have your best interests at heart."

"You are _so_ full of shit."

Bonnie glowered at the vampire for a second before spinning around, determined to head to his bedroom and tear it apart in search of her grimoire. At that moment Stefan unceremoniously slid into the kitchen with a squeak. The younger Salvatore brother had obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation, as evidenced by the guilty expression worn on his face and the way he refused to meet Bonnie's eye and, instead, intensely examined the kitchen floor.

"Stealthy." Damon bestowed upon Stefan his most shit-eating grin. "Nice vampire grace you've got there, little brother."

"The floor was slippery."

"Uh-huh."

As Stefan wiped his feet and tried his best to sneak out of the kitchen unnoticed, Bonnie turned towards the stairs to Damon's room. The dark-haired vampire was hot on her trail, looking none-too-pleased.

"Where do you think you're going?" He had already ghosted past her to block the entrance to his bedroom.

"I'm going to tear your room apart and get my grimoire back."

Damon glared at Bonnie as if she had just suggested that she was going to defecate on his clean white linen sheets. Being the OCD neat-freak he was, he didn't appreciate people touching or rearranging his stuff let alone insinuating that they were going to tear it apart. It was clear that he was going to put an immediate stop to Bonnie's actions.

"It's not in my room."

"Then where is it?" Her hands were perched on her hips and her breasts were jutting outwards as she deeply breathed in and out. "Tell me where it is."

"Sure, lemme just think about it for a moment." Damon put a finger to his lips in a contemplative manner before leaning in close. "Uh, wait, how about _no_?"

Bonnie snarled at the vampire, but he just waved her off. Bringing his hand to the small of her back, Damon tried to guide her away from his bedroom as quickly and as gently as possible.

"You are just gonna have to trust me for once, Judgey. This is all part of my well-laid plan."

"Yeah, well you can stick your well-laid plan up your well-laid ass!"

"Language!" he faux admonished, tapping a finger on Bonnie's lips. "Do you kiss Mother Abby with that mouth?"

She slapped his hand away. "Bite me, Damon."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Bonnie took a step back and regarded him with darkening eyes. Her patience was wearing thin, and she could feel the uncontrollable magic within her beginning to boil and overflow. She calmly counted to ten in her head before taking a few cleansing breaths and exhaling.

"I. _Hate_. You." Having said all that needed to be said, Bonnie spun around on her heel and headed for the exit, not bothering to wait for Damon's reply.

"Yeah, well..." He paused, having momentarily lost his train of thought as his gaze instinctively narrowed to her retreating backside, following the smooth sashaying of her hips with half-lidded eyes. He shook his head, quickly dismissing his treasonous thoughts, and barked after her, "I hate you, too!"

Bonnie rolled her eyes and yanked open the door, slamming it shut behind her as she stormed outside. God, he was like arguing with a three-year-old!

**.**

**.**

**.**

Thunder rolled in the distance. The rain was coming down steadily; the skies themselves had opened up to weep the moment Bonnie had buckled up in her seat. Water sluiced down her Prius as she drove, filling in the potholes that littered the road leading to Wickery Bridge.

"_You're just gonna have to trust me on this, Bonnie_," she mimicked snidely. "_I only have your best interests at heart._" Bonnie's gnashed her teeth, her knuckles paling as she gripped the steering wheel and imaged it was Damon's neck. "Best interests, my ass."

Bonnie didn't believe the sincerity of Damon's words any more than she trusted him to prize her welfare outside of her value as a witch. In fact, Bonnie trusted the vampire as far as she could throw him—_without_ the aid of psychokinesis. But at the same time she didn't believe Damon stole her grimoire on a whim or just to mess with her. There was a method behind his madness, and though he wouldn't tell her what that was, she suspected it had something to do with Elena.

Pulling out her phone, Bonnie was about to text Stefan when she stopped herself. There was a great likelihood that Stefan and Damon were working together on this—whatever 'this' was. Maybe they had stolen her grimoire to help Elena, though Bonnie wasn't exactly sure how. Maybe they wanted to use it in a trade, but with whom, and why not ask for her help if that were the case?

But then both Damon and Stefan knew that Bonnie was unwilling to help Elena right now—not the humanity-switched-off murdering and _thrice _attempted best friend-murdering bitch she had become. The Elena Bonnie knew, the best friend she loved like a sister, was gone; dead. And Elena had burnt far too many bridges to expect help from Bonnie, not now and probably not for a long, long time.

So had the Salvatore brothers breached Bonnie's trust and absconded with her property in a round-about way of helping the Gilbert girl that they were so desperately and pathetically in love with? Bonnie wouldn't put it past them, especially Damon, but somehow all the pieces of this weird puzzle didn't quite fit. How could her grimoire, without Bonnie using it, be useful to Elena and the Salvatores? It couldn't be unless they had another witch working for them, and that was highly unlikely.

Damon told her he had taken the book for her own good, but he couldn't have possibly wanted to protect Bonnie—could he have? No, not likely. That wasn't Damon's modus operandi and Bonnie certainly wasn't his r_aison d'être_, especially with Elena wanting her dead. In fact, it was probably in Damon and everyone else's best interest if Bonnie Bonnett were dead. That way Silas would have no witch to perform his spell for him, no one to help him tear down the walls to the Other Side.

A loud rap on the windshield interrupted Bonnie's thoughts, followed by another and another until there was a series of successive rapping on the glass.

_Hail?_

Sure enough there were nickel-sized chunks of ice pelting her car and the road below. Hail in Virginia? Hail in July? How was this even possible? Was _she_ causing this? Were her emotions affecting the weather again?

A chunk of ice the size of a golf ball struck the driver's side of her windshield, causing a large crack that quickly spidered across the glass. Then a volley of hail assaulted the windshield and the glass instantly shattered inwards. Bonnie screamed, letting go of the wheel for a second to shield her face from the flying shards.

After the initial explosion of glass, Bonnie threw her hands back down on the wheel and tried to regain control of the car. She squinted and turned her head to the side to avoid the onslaught of the elements that were so brutally attacking her head on. A wayward chunk of ice struck just above her right temple and she hissed in pain, feeling the warm, wet blood oozing down her face.

She tried to keep her vehicle on the road, but the pavement was already too slick with ice and her vision was clouding with rain and blood. Her car had become a trundling behemoth, pulling sharply to the right before veering steadily towards the railings of the bridge. Desperately, she pumped the brakes but the vehicle refused to slow down, sliding dangerously along the slick road.

_Fuck you, ABS brakes! Oh God, I'm gonna die!_

The Prius broke through the barrier like a guided missile, and Bonnie grunted as the momentum thrust her forward, smashing her sternum bone-breakingly hard into the wheel. Blood pooled in her lungs and abdomen, and she hitched in one last wheezing breath as the car careened into the waters below.

She hadn't even felt the impact, having blacked out before the vehicle hit the water. But Bonnie jerked awake now, gasping gurgling breaths as blood filled her lungs with the same velocity as the water that filled her car.

The sound of rushing waters roared in her ears and her vision swam. Her pulse was weakening; she could barely move. Trapped, her body was still buckled into her seat as the water began to rise up to her neck. Blood poured from her mouth and she struggled to keep her eyes open, but it was a losing battle. The greying fog of unconsciousness had already found her, curling its cold, damp fingers into her brain.

Everything had gone cold and she began to drift, coming untethered from her conscious mind as a black crow cawed in the distance.

**.**

_If you knew that you would be alone  
Knowing right, being wrong  
Would you change?_

Bonnie shot up out of bed like her mattress was on fire and her ass was quickly catching. She clutched at her breast and began to breathe slowly, in and out. That was quite possibly the most vivid dream she had ever had, and the first one she had ever experienced about her own death—at least in so much detail. But it had all felt so real that Bonnie wondered if this was yet another one of her prophetic dreams.

_If you knew that you would find a truth  
That brings a pain that can't be soothed  
Would you change?_

Bonnie clicked off the radio alarm with a grimace before sitting back down on the bed. Her body trembled. It was the same song she had woken up to this morning and, well, it still looked to be morning if indicated by the time on the clock. Was it still the same day?

She leaned over the nightstand and picked up her phone, turning it on and waiting for the date to appear. Thursday flashed in bold and she frowned. Yup, same day, same hour. Which meant that Damon still had her grimoire. He must have stolen it earlier, either before or after he dropped her off at home—after the spell that had gone wrong.

Deciding to get the drop on him, Bonnie quickly jumped to her feet and began dressing. She would confront him at the boarding house and take it from there.

Not some twenty minutes later—having taken no shower and working on an empty stomach—Bonnie barged through the doors of the Salvatores' home like she owned the place. She headed straight for the kitchen, spotting a perfectly pressed Damon opening a packet of blood and pouring it into a mug.

"What brings you to my humble abode?" he asked, probably having heard and smelt her before she even parked her car.

"My grimoire. I want it back."

"I don't—" he stopped mid-sentence and frowned "—how did you know?" He waved his fingers at her before taking a careful step back. "Did you use your witchy juju powers on me?"

"No, I used my brain—something you sorely lack." Her hands went to her hips. "Now give me back my grimoire, Damon. I don't have the time or the patience for your stupid little games."

"Games? No games here." He popped the mug of blood in the microwave and pressed a set button before turning around and placing a hand over his heart. "I only have your best interests at heart, Bonnie."

Bonnie frowned, and her brow knitted in confusion as a cold wash of d_éjà_ vu swept over her. Before she could even speak, Stefan suddenly came sliding into the kitchen with an embarrassing squeak.

"Stealthy." Damon faced Stefan with that shit-eating grin of his. "Nice vampire grace you've got there, little brother."

"The floor was slippery."

"Uh-huh."

"This can't be happening," Bonnie muttered, feeling the bottom of her stomach drop out. This was _exactly_ like her dream; this was beyond d_éjà_ vu.

"What can't be happening?" Damon asked, but Bonnie's attention was fixed on Stefan as he wiped his feet and attempted to surreptitiously retreat from the kitchen unnoticed, and with his pride still intact. "Look, Judgey, you're just gonna have to trust me. It's all part of my well-laid plan."

_What the hell? _"Well you can stick your well-laid plan up your well-laid ass," she recited blandly, before turning back to Damon and pointing a slender finger at him. "And, _no_, I do not kiss my mother with this mouth."

Damon raised an inquisitive brow, uncharacteristically speechless. He was about to open his mouth when the microwave went off with a beep. Bonnie jumped slightly at the sound and began to back-peddle, booking a hasty retreat. This was getting a little too freaky for comfort.

"I-I've gotta go!"

"Aww, but you just got here." Damon pouted. "I was going to bake muffins."

"I'll be back in an hour," she informed him brusquely, before promptly turning on her heel and heading towards the door. "You better have my grimoire here when I get back or I swear I'm gonna light you, your car, and your entire wardrobe on fire." She stopped short and spun around to face him. "Got that, Damon? Do you need to write any of this down?" When Damon merely stared at her, bug-eyed and mouth ajar, Bonnie took that as an affirmative. "Great. See you in an hour, then!"

It was time for her to find out what the hell was going on.

* * *

A/N: I wrote this several weeks ago but totally forgot to post it. Whoops!

Thanks to gitan312 for the grimoire suggestion—I was looking for a good excuse for Bonnie to get worked up to the point where she'd literally want to beat Damon's ass with his own foot. And, yes, this will be turned into a chaptered fic because I love me a good time loop story. Also, I plan on opening the chaptered fic a bit differently than this one-shot. Well, differently in the sense that it will hopefully flow better. ;)

*Lyrics are from the song _Change_ by Tracy Chapman.


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